


Runaways

by wabbit-ears (wabbit)



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wabbit/pseuds/wabbit-ears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like a dream. One minute he was listening to Erik’s sick fear and roiling anger, and the next he had a bloody bat in his hands, and Shaw was motionless on the ground.</p><p>for mistralle's prompt: Kid!Charles saves a teenaged Erik from Shaw by clubbing the villain to (near)death with his baseball bat, and then runs away with him. I'd like to see the dynamics in this relationship, where the twelve-year-old boy is the one in charge, because Charles knows whom to trust, or how to manipulate someone, and does not shy away from using his gift to make people help them.<br/>Whether he regards Erik as a friend, or a means to an end (having an "elder brother" or even "an uncle" with him is much better for public image), or just HIS to take care of and to trust I leave for the author to decide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistralle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistralle/gifts).



> This is soooo terribly unfinished and unedited. There are probably a billion spelling errors and tense changes and there's not much plot and no conclusion whatsoever, but I wanted to post /something/, so here it is in all its misshapen glory. Hopefully someday I'll put together a more polished version, because this is such an interesting prompt that deserves the time and attention.

“We have to run,” Charles says, searching Shaw’s pockets until he finds his wallet. He pushes it into Erik’s hands before tugging him by the sleeve up off the ground and towards the door. Erik trudges along after him until they reached the threshold, coming to a stop so resolutely that Charles stumbles back into him. “We have to run,” Charles repeats. “We have to, at the very least, you have to leave. You can’t stay here, you––”  
  
Erik wordlessly pulls the bat from Charles’ other hand before dropping it onto the carpet with a dull thud.  
  
“Oh. Thanks.”

 

  
The weekend’s started, so it could take days before Charles’ mother notices he was missing, but eventually the school will call about his absence and his mother will send out a very quiet, very well paid search party to hunt him down. He isn’t sure about Erik. Does he have any other family besides Shaw? Friends that would worry if he didn’t meet them for basketball practice? Perhaps a well meaning teacher who tutors him Saturday afternoons. He glances over at Erik, shivering slightly in as he walks beside him in just a t-shirt and jeans. They would need to find Erik a coat. All the stores have long closed, but perhaps Charles can find someone to convince to help two poor homeless children. To help and not take to the authorities or mention when the news inevitably breaks that a little rich boy vanished from his home in the middle of the night. Perhaps they could find an empty home to break into. But Charles doesn’t know anything about picking locks, and Erik will still be cold without a coat.  
  
“Right. We’ll find you a coat first, and then a place to stay,” he decides. “A motel, if we can find one.”

 

  
Charles bangs his fist against the door, desperately trying the handle. His head is filled with lightning and thunder and all he wants is for it to stop, for Shaw to stop, why won’t he stop, god the neighbors must be able to hear him by now, why aren’t they calling the police, why won’t somebody help, help me, help––

 

  
There’s a would-be-mugger following them. Charles had tried to steer them towards the main streets, but he must have mixed up a turn or two somewhere along the way because they’ve just past the fourth broken window in six blocks and have a mugger tracing their steps.  
  
To the right. Erik barely startles before following his unspoken orders. They enter the empty alleyway and Charles turns to face their mugger, a teenager about Erik’s age with desperation in his eyes.  
  
“Wallet and phones,” the teen says immediately, a knife held up in his right hand.  
  
Charles begins filtering through his mind none to gently, which has their mugger cringing and bringing up a hand to grab at his forehead. A sad past with an abusive aunt and dead parents, cold nights huddled under the bridge and dull days spent begging on the streets. His favorite color is red. He misses his little brothers. He hates spiders and stares at the new laptop on display at the electronics store through the window shop, but he never goes inside because he knows the employees will just glare at him while he’s inside, like he’s about to steal it, he knows how he looks, dirt poor and no prospects and––  
  
“Wallet and phones. If you don’t want any trouble just hand ‘em over.” He waves the knife in a vague threat with so little conviction Charles can’t help but scoff.  
  
“You’re not going to hurt us,” Charles says.  
  
“I will if you don’t hand over your shit,” he said, tightening his grip on the knife.  
  
“You won’t.” Even without cheating Charles can tell he’s more likely to run away than actually stab anyone. “This is your first time trying to rob anyone, and you’re terrified and already guilt ridden, so put the knife away. You’re not going to hurt anyone tonight.”  
  
“I fucking will!” he shouts, taking a step forward before being slammed back into the wall behind him. For a moment they both froze as the knife slips from his hand and hovers for a second before dancing through the air to Erik.  
  
Erik who has his arms outstretched. Erik, who has powers, is a freak just like him. He barely has any time to admire him before Erik drops his hands, grabs Charles’ arm, and starts sprinting out of the alleyway. Despite Charles’ protests Erik doesn’t slow until they must be at least ten blocks away from their attacker.  
  
“You have telekinesis?” Charles blurts out between his gasps for air once they stop.  
  
“Just with metal,” Erik replies, not out of breath in the slightest, the jerk. “Lucky he had a belt buckle.”  
  
Charles’ mind whirls with the possibilities. If they get low on cash they could break into houses, slip into stores during the middle of the night to pick up food, walk right through the turnstiles for the train. Every door is open to them. It finally hits him. “You were the one that opened the door.”  
  
 “The door?”  
  
“At the apartment. It was locked. I thought I’d just fumbled opening it in my panic at first, but it was you. You opened the door.”  
  
Erik nods. “You’re like me, right? Different.”  
  
“Yes. Telepath, to be precise,” Charles replies.  
  
“That’s how you found me. You heard Shaw. Or me.”  
  
“Yes.”

 

  
He can hear it again. Somebody is screaming in his head. The pain smashes against his brain in steady waves and he tries to ignore it but it just. Won’t. Stop. He’s good at ignoring the voices, good at focusing his attention elsewhere, but this voice won’t leave him alone. He can’t concentrate, can’t think, can’t do anything but let himself be buffeted by the terror and the pain and the anger that belies all of it. He hates it, hates himself, hates the damned monster hitting him, hates the voices, hates everything, god, why won't they shut up? Can't they just be quiet? He's going to make them quiet, he has to make them quiet––


End file.
